


Stop

by Iolanfg



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolanfg/pseuds/Iolanfg
Summary: Six times Greg Lestrade stopped Mycroft Holmes and once he didn't
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54
Collections: Mystrade is our Division





	Stop

**Author's Note:**

> No character belongs to me.  
> Written for the Facebook group challenge Mystrade is our division: writers and readers. A fic with the word Stop.  
> English is not my first language. This was done with the help of translator Deepl. Sorry for any mistake.  
> Thanks for reading.

Keepingthe his team working like a well-oiled wheel, cutting through the excess bureaucracy and finding the criminals first and keeping them in prison later, was by no means Gregory Lestrade's hardest job. Care of Sherlock Holmes, and suppressing the urge to kill him himself that sometimes overpowered him, was a little more difficult. But it wasn't something that would exhaust him to the point of exhaustion either. It was his other mission, one that he really didn't know when he had been tasked, or who had done it, the one who stole sleep hours and required all his patience: to be the retaining wall for Mycroft Holmes, the calm and firm voice that kept the most dangerous man in London safe from himself. It was not an easy task. 

\- Damn it, stop!  
Shouted the DI, furious, banging violently on the desk. The government man blinked slightly at the blast, but stopped talking. The door burst open, the brown woman who had accompanied the official and been waiting for him behind the door, without looking up from her mobile, appeared with a tense face, looking for the cause of the commotion. Mycroft Holmes dismissed her with a wave of his hand, without turning around. Greg Lestrade took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. The man in the three-piece suit did not look away from him, his face completely blank.   
\- I don't know how he knows what he says he knows, but this is ridiculous,' he sighed, retrieving the various dossiers now scattered on his table in an attempt to buy time.  
\- Is it? - The government man raised an eyebrow, with an amused grimace on his face. He had been waiting for him in his office when he arrived from the scene of the crime, demanding that the main suspect, a young junkie who had been found next to the body, with the murder weapon in his hand, be left in his custody. The young man had refused to identify himself and had started shouting about the stupidity of the police force, unable to see what was under their noses and accusing the brother-in-law of the victim of the crime, because of the dirt found under the dead man's nails. - Detective Inspector Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes is many things. But he's not a murderer. Indeed, if he has pointed to a possible suspect, I would pursue that line of inquiry, if I were you.  
Evidently, Greg told you that was stupid. The young man was there, covered in blood, with the knife in his hand and completely drugged. Besides, you couldn't find a criminal from a soil sample that hadn't even been tested.  
With a smug smile, the man had picked up the folders on the DI's desk, talking, with a simple glance at the photographs, of very clear cases of suicide which were really murders, of failed robberies which were crimes of passion, and of accidents which were settling of scores. Evidently, the policeman didn't believe him.  
\- Oh, come on, you're making it up!  
Then the smug smile disappeared, and the man began to make deductions about the life of his team, from Sally Donovan's last romantic failure to Anderson's mother's terminal illness, and about Greg himself, from what he had eaten for breakfast to his marital problems. And Greg had exploded.  
\- I've already told you, Detective Inspector Lestrade. This is a simple exercise in observation.   
\- OK, OK. Let's assume all that's true. We've caught him at the scene, completely drugged. You expect me to just let him go?  
The man, screaming power from all four sides, sighed wearily. Actually, DI Lestrade knew it was a courtesy that he'd come to his office to ask him to release the young man into his custody. One call to his superior, and the boy would have been released, his record would have been lost, and Lestrade himself would probably have been reprimanded for overzealousness.  
\- No. Not just like that.  
\- Good. What do you propose?  
\- You listening to what you have to say. Ignoring her temper and his insults, just listen to what he have to say about the case. If he're wrong, you can press charges for breaking into a crime scene and assaulting authority.  
\- And if you're not?  
Mycroft Holmes gave her a sly smile.  
\- If he's not wrong, you'll let him help in some cases, as long as he agrees to go into a rehab facility. He'll submit to drug tests, he'll help you when you ask and I'll answer for both of you to his superiors.   
Greg looked at him weighing his offer. It was crazy. But still, what was the worst that could happen? Over the years, I'd remember that rhetorical question many times, cursing the Holmes brothers.

\- Stop it.  
Mycroft looked away from the still-smoking building in shock. He hadn't heard the man approach.  
\- What? - His jaw hurt and he realized that he had been clenching his teeth.  
\- Whatever that big brain of yours is thinking. All those calculations and guesses about what could have happened or how you could have prevented it. - Mycroft looked at the scene of the explosion, exhaling slowly as he loosened his grip on his umbrella. Greg was also looking ahead, but he smiled slightly as he felt the man relaxing. - Sherlock and John are safe. That's all that matters now. I think it's time to go get a drink. There'll be time to think tomorrow.   
Mycroft looked at the man beside him, nodding.  
\- Diogenes?

\- I want you to stop!  
Mycroft looked up from his papers to stare at the very angry DI who had broken into his office without bothering to call. He waved goodbye to Anthea, who had rushed after the detective with an apologetic look on her face.  
\- And what exactly should I stop? - he asked with his best innocent expression.  
Greg sighed, closing the door behind him.  
\- Beth called me. Apparently, she can't find a lawyer willing to represent her in the trial for divorce.  
\- Well, I don't see how that would have anything to do with me. Maybe there's some decency left in the bar association?  
Greg looked at him, arching his eyebrows.  
\- Honestly, Lestrade, perhaps none of them would consider it fair for their ex-wife to demand to keep your car, half your furniture, half your money and a lifelong pay as a reward for his infidelity.  
\- In the same way that all the technicians considered it fair to investigate my landlord and the structures of his buildings precisely when he decided to raise the rent to all the tenants by two hundred percent?   
\- The buildings were dilapidated!  
\- In the same way that the IRS thought it was fair to investigate the senior police chief at the time he started giving me trouble for working with Sherlock? That's not counting the huge amount of fines for minor infractions he received for two years before he retired. Frankly, I don't think anyone has ever paid that much to throw a paper on the floor in the whole history of London.  
\- It's not my fault if people don't know how to behave civilly!  
\- Mycroft, no! Look, I appreciate you trying to look after me. But you can't go and make someone's life hell just because they're causing me difficulties.  
Mycroft pouted.  
\- Why?  
\- Because that's not how it works. Sometimes people are mean and try to hurt you. Sometimes they succeed and sometimes they don't. That's how you learn. Fighting these things. In equal conditions. You can't ruin an old lady's life just because she cut in line at the supermarket this morning. Is that clear?  
Mycroft nodded, staring at his desk.   
\- Good. I have to get back to the Yard. I'll see you later.  
Greg turned to the door.  
\- Yeah, see you... Just one thing, Gregory... About that old woman... Do you think you could give me a description or...?  
The DI turned, with a raised eyebrow and the ghost of a smile  
\- Mycroft...  
\- I have to stop, don't I?  
\- Yes.  
\- Good. Okay...

\- Stop it!  
The DI closed the lid of the laptop, under the murderous gaze of the officer. "Well, at least you're looking at me now," he thought without lifting his hand from the computer, his expression firm and calm.  
\- What the hell do you think you're doing, Lestrade?- hissed the politician, frustrated.  
\- Stopping whatever stupid thing you're about to do. - He cut off the young man's outraged denial with a gesture. - No, look, your brother was shot and now he's disappeared. And you, instead of driving everyone in the command centre crazy going through every bloody CCTV footage looking for him, you're here. So clearly, even if you don't know where he is, you know something I don't, and you're up to something. - Mycroft's gaze wandered from the detective to the laptop, to finally fixate on a spot on the wall. Greg leaned over the desk. - Listen to me. I don't know what happened. I'm not going to bother asking you either because I know you won't tell me. I'm gonna go find your brother. And you're going to stay here, eating something that Anthea is going to buy you and waiting for news. Without doing anything you might later regret. Is that clear?

Mycroft swallowed, feeling the anger that had been simmering inside him for days to evaporate a little. That bloody woman had shot her brother. His little brother had been dead because of the bloody Watson family. And he was supposed to just stand by? Oh, of course, Sherlock had justified it. And he knew that going against Mary would mean an almost permanent break with his brother. So after some thought, he had managed to find a solution to his problem. It had taken him hours to find the former agent known as "Ugly Duckling". A ruthless mercenary who would be happy to meet up with some of the AGRA members and settle the score with them. That she was pregnant could not have mattered less at the time. Sherlock would never know of her involvement. After all, the past always came back to haunt people like Mary Watson. And now, Greg Lestrade was there, not knowing what was going on, but willing to upset his plans.  
\- Mycroft, did you hear me? I know you're angry right now. I know how much you care. But don't make any rash decisions. Please?   
Reluctantly, he turned his gaze to the DI. His eyes scanned the tiny wrinkles on his face, the slightly furrowed brow and the tiny blue circles under his eyes. He suppressed the urge to run his fingers through the soft silvery hair. He looked away again and nodded.

\- Hey, stop! - Mycroft struggled a bit- Come on, I think you've had enough.  
Mycroft Holmes, the Iceman, in his wrinkled suit shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, the tie, the vest and the jacket from the day before long ago discarded, watched the DI as he snatched the bottle of whisky from her. Another bottle was resting, already empty, on the desk. He had discarded the glass hours ago. Much less drunk than he should have been given the amount of alcohol he had ingested, his bloody brain refused to lose control, he made a point of getting up to show Detective Inspector Lestrade how unappreciated his presence was and retrieving his bottle, but the Stranger's Room at the Diogenes Club swung sharply, causing him to crash into Greg. The younger man swore.  
\- Come on, Mycroft, you can't even stand up. - said Greg as he ran his hand under his arm to pull him up, holding his back. - We're going to take you to the sofa so you can get some sleep.  
Mycroft tried to let go.  
\- I don't want to sleep. I want to drink.  
\- You've already done that, and a lot of it, today.  
Mycroft snorted, but stopped fighting, leaning his head against Greg's.  
\- My brother's a killer. He blew a guy's head off, surrounded by cops. I think that entitles me to get drunk.  
Greg snorted, finally getting him on his feet to maneuver together, staggering, to the couch, where he forced him to sit down.  
\- Yeah. Sherlock has messed up big time this time,- he said as I untied his shoes, shaking his head, - But I don't see how putting you in an alcoholic coma is gonna help him.  
Mycroft sank deeper into the sofa, resting his head against the backrest.  
\- I can't help him. All my power, all my influence, and I can't help my brother! - Mycroft's voice was a strange mixture of anger, frustration and pain. He seemed to deflate after that. Greg finished taking off her shoes and moved him over to the sofa, putting a blanket over him. Mycroft let himself go.  
\- Sh, easy. You'll find a way. - He stroked Mycroft's hair, talking softly, without taking his your eyes off her own, - I know you will. It's not your fault.  
\- I'm afraid for him, Greg... - Mycroft's eyes were closing, the tiredness, the alcohol and Greg's quiet, loving touch taking effect.  
\- I know. Rest now. I'll be here.

\- Mycroft! Come on, Mycroft, stop!  
The older Holmes stopped abruptly, surprised by Greg's grip on his arms. When the helicopter dropped him off at Sherrinford to pick up the politician, he didn't quite know what to expect. But a Mycroft Holmes barking out frantic orders, reviewing security footage from five different monitors and flipping through and violently discarding documents on the ground was not one of those things. The tallest one looked at him, with a strange expression on his face.  
\- Gregory, what...?  
\- Stop it. Just stop and breathe, okay? You're in shock. You need to calm down. - He barely noticed the officers leaving what had been the prison warden's office. His hands went up Mycroft's arms to his face, cradling his face. - They're fine, okay? Eurus, Sherlock, John. They're all fine. And you need to get out of here and rest.  
\- Gregory, she... I... It's my fault.  
\- No. It's not. It's not your fault they disobeyed your orders. It's not your fault they made decisions without your consent. They weren't prepared to handle it and they went behind your back. Greg went closer to the politician, his fingers tracing soft circles on his cheeks. Mycroft clung to his arms.  
\- People died. She wanted Sherlock to ... God, what's going to happen now?  
\- I don't know, Mycroft. But whatever it is, you'll face it, just like you always have. Now let's get you home, shall we? There's nothing more you can do here.  
Mycroft supported his front against Greg's, letting himself be wrapped in his hug, finally relaxing.  
\- Come on. It's time for you to rest. Let someone else take care of the mess for a change.  
The politician nodded, letting himself be led out.

\- Stop. You're wrong. - Greg raised his head to the gentle murmur. Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed Mycroft leaving his chair in front of the fireplace to kneel beside it he, and now he looked at it with a cautious expression. A small nervous grinned on his face. - It is nothing that you are thinking of.  
\- Oh, no? What am I thinking? - Greg tried to smile back, trying to decide how he felt. He was happy, of course. Sherlock had returned from the dead. It had been a difficult two years. But alongside the happiness of being reunited with his friend, many other emotions had emerged.  
\- You wonder if I don't trust you, and that's why I hadn't told you. You wonder if I really, as Sherlock in his infinite idiocy has assured time and again, only consider you my puppet. You wonder if my estrangement from you these past two years was because I didn't care about you or how you felt. You're wrong.  
Greg remained silent, unable to take his eyes off Mycroft. The analist lowered his eyes, exhaling slowly before placing one of your hands gently on the policeman's. He seemed relieved when Greg   
didn't walk away. Mycroft's eyes returned to him, with a nervous but determined expression.  
\- Gregory, I... I couldn't... It wasn't safe for you to tell you about Sherlock. We needed to make it look real. I trust you. I trust you more than anyone. - He released one of his hands to run it through the silver hair, caressing it gently. - I missed you. You have no idea how much. But...without Sherlock here, there was no reason to pursue our professional partnership. I was never a target for Moriarty because I wasn't supposed I to be important to anyone, que no one was important to me. I couldn't risk calling you, as much as I might want to. So don't you dare think that you're not important. Because you are the most important thing. - Greg leaned his forehead against the younger man's, trying to control his shaky breathing.  
\- Mycroft...  
\- I've missed you. I can't even begin to explain how much. - The politician rubbed his forehead against his own. - He needed you. To remind me that despite myself, I'm only human. You're the only thing that keeps me sane, my anchor to the world. So no, don't think for a moment that you're not important.   
Greg sighed, felt a rebellious tear run down his cheek, but he could not care less.   
\- I've missed you.... - His lips sought out those of Mycroft, who responded with an anxious sigh. Mycroft's lips were soft, warm, and Greg soon found himself embracing him, drawing him closer to him seeking more contact, his tongue asking for access to the politician's mouth. After a few minutes of hungry, needy kisses, Mycroft's mouth left his to kiss the corner of his lips, leaving a trail of kisses along his jaw to climb up his neck to his ear, where he nibbled slightly on the lobe.  
\- Gregory,- His hoarse voice of desire caused a shudder in the spine of the DI, - I don't want a one-night stand. I've had more one-night stands than I care to remember. You're different. If it's not what you want, just say so. If you want it I to stop, and our relation to be like it was before, this is a good time to tell me to stop.  
Greg sighed, squeezing his hug, his fingers digging into Mycroft's back and neck.  
\- Don't stop. Don't you dare stop. Never.


End file.
